


The Doctor Commits Suicide

by anoushka



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoushka/pseuds/anoushka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TenTwo and Rose live in Parallel Universe Cardiff quite happily and peacefully until the receive messages that the Doctor will be killed. In their journey across universes to save him, they'll have the chance to fix and destroy different worlds - starting with Middle Earth.</p>
<p>I wrote this or NaNoWriMo so there's a lot coming and I'll change the tags as the chapter come in. Hope you like it :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor Commits Suicide

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this or NaNoWriMo so there's a lot coming and I'll change the tags as the chapter come in. Hope you like it :)

The house was perched on the side of the Cardiff cliff, watching the sea destroy itself against the ragged stones, slowly wearing it away as the years went by. Roses had been planted around the house - they were the only plants strong enough to withstand the cold and the tempests. The facade facing the harsh sea winds had the blue paint peeling off, and a layer of crystallized salt had formed in the cracks. On the other walls, the Mediterranean blue was as pure as the first day, a darker blue outlining the windows and doors.   
It was a small two-story house but for the two inhabitants it was more than enough. The door to the house faced inland, towards the grassy plains, and down a small winding road that led to the city. A golden slit opened up for the mail, and peering through, one could see the back of a small sofa, the beginning of a wooden staircase and the entry to a black-and-white kitchen. But the most distinguishing feature was the books. Shelves lined every inch of the walls, occasionally crossing over on a window. Books were piled at the edge of the sofa, in the corners, in the stairs - they formed an alley through the house.   
Despite this, there was an old television balanced on two stacks of books. It was a boxy thing, sprouting two antennas. Such a relic must have cost a fortune. If one was actually invited into the house, one would discover many more strange things. Apart from the T.V there were many antiquities littering the house - rings with house crests of empires long dead, centuries-old letters scrawled in a long-lost dialect, paintings by famous artists from the Rennaissance, an IPhone 4... And yet objects of shining metals unknown to humanity, tickets with names of non-existent places, and clothes from another world sat next to these, as if they had finally found their place together.   
But very few people ever had the privilege to enter the house. They saw the road leading towards it and assumed it led nowhere, or believed it would offer a splendid view of the sea. When they reached the house, they turned back and only a few were impolite enough to enter the property. Impolite, because this wasn't a horror movie - it was an inhabited, welcoming house like a harmless old couple might have. And in any case, they were rarely seen and when they were it wasn't near the house. In fact, though many knew them, few actually knew where they lived. And in the same way many knew of the house without knowing who lived there. For those who trespassed for the sake of the view, it was not worthless.  
Stormy days and cloudy days alike were beautiful. The wind buffeted one's hair back, the clouds rolled low over the churning waves. The shades of grey broke when a ray of sunshine pierced the cover, or burst through from the far off horizon. The sea was equally grey, foaming white on the crest as though it wished to duel with the sky. And when it rained, it was a duel indeed, rain and waves meeting halfway up to the heavens. But on clear days a faded green line replaced the mist on the horizon - France. 

Rose remembered France, the gardens of Versailles and it's golden palaces. She remembered the dead ship, commanded by semi-human robots, with its portals into another world and time. She remembered Mme de Pompadour, and the twisted life she'd led. She remembered her relationship with the Doctor, and the strange feeling that had twisted in her guts when she'd noticed it. But now she knew the words that came after "Rose, I -" and she was happy.

After her Doctor had left her - for a second time! - in that cursed Norwegian beach, she had brought the new human back to England, where she had lived with her mother before the Darkness. For a time they had rented an apartment, earning money with small jobs. She began waitressing, and found she liked it. She worked at fancy hotels and discovered the joys of being a unnoticed presence, and then the joy of earning a pay raise and that of changing posts. She became the lead waitress, Commander of the Waitresses. They only stayed for a year in London but that didn't stop her from rising to the prestigious post of Manager - a position of control, patience, and intelligence.   
Meanwhile, he worked at several small jobs, offering whatever service or knowledge he had. After a speech given at the Science University of London discussing the possibility of outer-space and time travel, the professors invited him to join their team. He became known as Professor Physics, in honor of the first day of class during which he had spent the first five minutes repeating the word. Thoroughly mystified, his students had given up hope on the young teacher, only to have it renewed many times during the year.   
During that year, the blonde companion both loved and hated him. She loved him for loving her, for having said the words, for staying with her and giving her his life. But she hated him because of how much and yet how different he was from HER Doctor. He looked the same but always wore blue instead of brown. He spoke the same way but was always honest and straightforward with her. He had the same knowledge and memories but he was still born from war - quick to action and anger, relentless and harsh. He was the man she'd known when she had first met him, aboard the Sycorax ship. The "no second chances man" who had killed his foe and destroyed the career of his enemy. The only thing that didn't change was the way he looked at her, chocolate eyes filled with mirth, happiness and love but with a darkness and grief hidden inside.   
She didn't know what to call him. She couldn't call him John as his colleagues did. Nor Professor as his students did. And she refused to call him Doctor - he wasn't the Doctor. For a time she named him Two since he was the second regeneration of HER Doctor.   
But when she needed help and called him - when she got burned, when she'd forgotten to turn the alarm on, when she couldn't get a taxi, when she'd forgotten to buy food - she called him Doctor. And at that he would smile inwardly, and do what he always did - help and heal. So eventually, it came as no surprise when she used 'two' as a number and no more and named him 'Doctor'. She used 'Two' as a nickname instead. 

It was then that they moved to Cardiff. He'd been offered a job at the museum and she'd decided there was no reason not to leave London. They'd packed what little they had and in a day they were gone. They found the abandoned house and redecorated it. It had taken a month but after finally deciding on which shade of blue to paint the house, they'd finished. They bought second-hand furniture, preferring their coziness (and cheapness) over Ikea's. 

While the Doctor guided groups of adults and children over the museum, Rose gathered her courage and took out her Doctor's and Donna Noble's present. 

...

"Doctor! Is it connected?"  
"Yes, and now..." His face twisted in nervous apprehension as he pushed the button down.   
A low humming and faint blue light emanated from the surface of the object.   
"Is it working," Rose whispered.  
"Yeah," he sighed, relieved.   
As they watched, the object grew in size, stretching out away from them, then branching out and curving inwards.   
Eyes widening in alarm, the Doctor sprang up and grabbed it, pulling it so it would grow skywards. He struggled with the surprising weight as Rose ran towards him with wooden poles and rope.   
The poles were knotted to the object and stuck into the earth, supporting it in an upright position.   
It continued to grow, sprouting leaf-less branches like a tree in winter and though it offered no shade, the pair sat at it's base every day.

...

"Now Rose!" She slammed the red orb into the crevice while the Doctor ran around the console slapping buttons and peering into the green depths of the main unit. He leaned over the screens, watching the circular Gallifreyan etch itself into the dark background.   
"Now all we have to do is..." He reached across to a switch and pushed it down.   
When nothing happened he frowned and leapt down to the lower level as Rose rolled her eyes.  
"Did you ever learn to use this thing?"  
"I didn't need to! Natural, you know," he grinned.  
He tinkered with the wires, slapped several boxes and jumped back up, "And now..."  
"Welcome back," he declared.  
The central unit lit up with green and blue light, the circular bubbles began to rise and fall as it's hum increased in volume. Golden light filled the outer walls were the tree-like columns had grown. The buttons on the console turned multi-colored and several annoyed beeps attracted the Doctor to fix the new problems. The wires running out were promptly disconnected and the door closed.   
Rose and the Doctor leaned back against the balustrade, gazing in awe at the console and each other.  
"You're a genius." They grinned at each, "no, you are."  
"Yes I actually am," smiled the Doctor, tugging Rose into a hug.  
They kissed softly, pouring their joy and gracefulness in it, standing in the TARDIS.

...  
The phone on the TARDIS never rings. New TARDIS or old TARDIS it never rings. That was the voice inside her head told Rose. Never. But as she returned from Cardiff with supplies, the police phone rang insistently. Cautiously she picked it up, looked at it for a second and brought it to her ear. 

"Hello." The voice was wary, "and who are you?"

"Hi, I'm Rose," she answered shyly. But the voice didn't hear her.

"But that can't be. Unless -"

"Can I help?"

"So why are you here? Why are you talking to me, now?"

"Because you called me," she exclaimed.

"Kill me," it scoffed, "many have tried. Some nearly succeeded. But they didn't." The tone flew from dark to joyful like a bird in flight. 

"Are you ok?" Surely the speaker was mentally ill.

"Why do YOU want to kill me?" The man was genuinely curious.

"Who are you? Who are you speaking to?" 

"No," the voice meditated, "but I'd very much like to."

"Where you are you?" Her voice grew panicky and nervous, this wasn't normal. She should be able to help. Why else would she have received the call?

"Is it Trenzalore? I've heard of that place before... The Silence!" 

"What is that?" Rose grew more frantic as curiously and anxiety flooded her.

"No, not you, of course not! What could you possibly want? Oh!"

"What? What is it?" She sounded like her mother, Jackie, screeching like a fangirl.

"Oh! You genuinely think I'm EVIL!" The voice laughed in amazement, then grew menacing, "I've saved countless worlds, I've turned time and space, I've created. If you kill me, the universe will DIE!"

"Who are you?"

"Well bad news, my friend, because HA! I'm the Doctor and -"

...

Rose burst into the house, flew to the kitchen and announced, "Someone's going to kill the Doctor."

...

The phone rang everyday. Everyday the same one-sided conversation was heard until the words and sentences lost all meaning. At first the Doctor had sprang up, and sprinted to the TARDIS. The kitchen looked like a tornado had hit, but he had returned moody and preoccupied. He muttered vague explanations to Rose before drifting off into mediation. He remained awake the entire night until the next day when the phone rang again, at 2 o'clock sharp.   
It rang every day for nine days, until they both had the conversation memorized, down to the last intonation.   
On the tenth day, they sat silently waiting for the scheduled call at 2 o'clock sharp. It never came. They sighed in a mixture of relief, confusion and strangely, sadness. To be honest, they missed the adventures. Even though they were now both human, they both disliked the slow path and longed to skip ahead in time and space.

"We have to go." Rose's eyes were resigned and at the same time hopeful and set for a new adventure.  
"Rose, " sighed the Doctor, "we can't, it'd be changing his fate. Can't mess with the time streams so much."  
"But it's the Doctor! If we don't the whole Universe might die! What is one time stream for the universe?"  
"And we don't know where he is...  
"Well with your navigation," muttered Rose, then smiled brilliantly and added, "oh, come on! You know you want to and it's no worse than before."  
In that instant, the Doctor's worried face split into a grin, eyes dancing merrily and exclaimed, "Allons y!"


End file.
